Queens (The Wielders of Arantha Book 2)

by Patrick Hodges

  Several times as a child, Elzaria and Elzor would escape their father's clutches just long enough to find secluded places to play. They would trudge up a large, snow-covered hill in the woods near their home, and both of them would delight in packing together snowballs before rolling them downhill. She would watch in fascination as the icy spheres gained mass as they rolled, nearly doubling or tripling in size before coming to rest at the bottom of the hill.

  This image flashed through her mind as she felt the last reserves of her power build within her: small at first, but gaining in size and potency. It rippled through her body like the current of a river, building and building, awaiting its release.

  This was it. Either she would win, or she would die.

  For you, brother.

  “I told you,” Elzaria whispered, still staring at the ground mere inches from her face, “do … not … call me that.”

  The wave of blue energy exploded from her, and she used the last drops of her willpower to direct it toward Kelia, and the plateau.

  A curtain of blackness veiled her eyes. She heard the sound of a body hitting the ground close by, then unconsciousness claimed her.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Nyla squeezed her eyes shut as she held a quivering Sarja. She wanted to yell at her friend, to shove her away, to open her eyes and realize no, it couldn't be. Sarja wasn't there, she was far, far away from deadly danger. Not here. Anywhere but here.

  “Why?” Nyla whispered in her Promised's ear. “Why don't you ever listen? You stubborn, single-minded …” The rest of her sentence was lost as her throat constricted in dismay.

  “I'm sorry, Ny,” Sarja said. “I … I just couldn't go. I'm not going to hide in a cave a hundred miles away while you risk your life.”

  Nyla cupped Sarja's cheeks. “Your mother's going to kill you, you know that? And if she doesn't, I will.”

  Sarja gave a wobbly smile. “I love you too.”

  Nyla sighed and shook her head. “You and I are going to have to have a serious –”

  “I hate to interrupt,” Yarji shouted, panic lacing her voice, “but they're coming back!”

  Nyla's guts clenched as dozens, then hundreds of men came swarming over the crest of the distant hill, howling like lyraxes as they sprinted toward the Plateau. Unlike the first wave of attackers, these men rode no merychs. No animals for Zarina to enlist to their cause. Nyla's first instinct was to call for her mother, but one glance in Kelia's direction confirmed that a simultaneous attack was taking place to their north. It would be up to Nyla and Yarji to keep their enemies at bay here.

  “Yarji!” Nyla yelled.

  “I know,” Yarji replied. A huge volume of water, three times the size of the previous one, rose from the River Ix. Again, moving her hands with grace and precision, the young water-Wielder converted the mass into scalding-hot steam. With a violent thrust, Yarji shoved the deadly cloud at the approaching army.

  The steam caught the front-runners full on. They collapsed to the ground, writhing and screaming as their skin blistered and boiled.

  Nyla hoped this would cause the rest of the attackers to halt or turn back, but the soldiers had come prepared this time. Dozens of men burst through the dissipating haze, barely slowing down. They had used their cloaks to shield themselves against the steam, the cloth absorbing most of the moisture as they held it in front of their faces. Yarji's cloud had broken their stride momentarily, but now they had resumed their sprint.

  Nyla turned to see Zarina, her eyes closed and her hands against her temples. The young chava-keeper was sending out another call for help, but to whom? Their enemies had left their merychs behind, so whom could she be summoning?

  She got her answer when dozens of birds appeared, swooping across and through the Plateau, chirping and squawking. Hundreds more, large and small, followed as they flew past huntresses and Wielders alike, coalescing into a huge winged mass as they dove straight at the oncoming army.

  The soldiers in front took the brunt of the birds' attack. Their momentum faltered as they brought their cloaks, shields, and arms up to cover their faces, swinging wildly with their swords. Many birds were chopped from the sky, falling to the ground in a flurry of feathers. Unfortunately, their enemies' number proved to be far superior. There simply weren't enough birds within Zarina's sphere of influence to deter the attacking army completely. The Ixtrayu's avian allies had bought them minutes, nothing more.

  Closer and closer they came. Nyla could sense the grim resolve in their movements. Many were scratched and bleeding, but their resolve had not faltered.

  Nyla's heart beat like a jarvek's as yet another wave appeared behind the first. Over a hundred soldiers, armed with bows, followed their comrades with equally determined gaits.

  “What do we do?” Sarja said, pulling an arrow from her quiver, nocking it into her bow, and firing. “There's too many of them!”

  Nyla leaned over the edge of the Plateau, shouting down to the huntresses guarding the entrance. “Archers! Look out!”

  The words had no sooner left her mouth than a massive volley of arrows came flying toward them. Remembering her mother's instructions, Nyla spread her hands wide, creating a violent current of air that spread like an invisible wall in front of the Plateau. As she'd hoped, the downdraft caused the arrows' momentum to slow, then stop. Many arrows fell harmlessly to the ground well away from their targets, while others clattered against the rocky walls of the Plateau.

  The sword-bearers continued their rapid approach. Nyla could keep her sisters shielded from the arrows, but doing so would also prevent the huntresses from firing back. If she dropped her barrier, they would be vulnerable. They would have to time their own attack precisely.

  Keeping her arms raised and the air-wall intact, Nyla shouted, “Huntresses! I'm going to drop the wall! Prepare to fire!” She could barely see them, but trusted they would obey her.

  She counted the seconds down. Three … two … one … “Now!”

  Nyla dropped her hands and the invisible curtain of air vanished. As she gasped for breath, dozens of arrows shot from the huntresses' bows, many striking the charging swordsmen. Those that brought their shields up survived, but Yarji took advantage of their distraction, sending yet another cloud of superhot steam their way.

  The line of archers, undeterred by the scalding mist enveloping their fellows, continued to fire. Nyla's stomach clenched as she heard one of her sisters scream in agony, then another, then another.

  A fourth wave of men appeared in the distance, swords and shields raised as they made their way, slowly and deliberately, toward the Plateau.

  They were losing ground. The enemy outnumbered them fifty to one. Zarina couldn't help anymore, and from the look of exhaustion on Yarji's face, the young water-Wielder was tiring. So was Nyla. And the huntresses only had so many arrows left to shoot.

  The Ixtrayu only had minutes before they would be completely overwhelmed, and the battle would be lost.

  Sarja continued to fire arrow after arrow. Some found their mark, but most clanged off the soldiers' shields. Her latest shot found the neck of a huge, bearded man as a scream echoed up the walls of the Plateau. Another of her sisters had fallen.

  Anger boiled up inside Nyla, a rage she'd never felt before. Her hands curled into fists, and her breath devolved into ragged, shallow pants. She thrust her hands out, preparing to let loose a blanket of fire as powerful as she could create.

  “Yarji!” she called. “Forget the steam! Turn the water to ice! Block the entrance! They can't get inside the Plateau!”

  Yarji, her shoulders slumped and in a state of near-collapse, nodded. Turning her attention from the battlefield to the River Ix below, she began to move her hands, splaying her shaking fingers as her Wielding manifested itself again.

  With a primal, high-pitched scream, Nyla shot a thick ribbon of fire from her fingertips. It covered the distance between her vantage point and the nearest soldiers in seconds, an assault that their cloaks
and shields could not block. Many fell to the soil, beating at their burning clothes, while others jumped into the river to douse the flames.

  Nyla's scream tapered to a hoarse croak as she sank to her knees, spent. She sucked in deep lungsful of air as she peered down from the top of the Plateau.

  Bodies, too many to count, lay sprawled on the ruined, blackened soil, burned beyond recognition. Many of them still burned, sending thick plumes of smoke into the air, and with it the stench of death. Nyla felt like she was going to vomit. She covered her nose and mouth, averting her gaze from the carnage below.

  Staggering to her feet, she took a few steps backward before collapsing, landing hard. Pain shot up her body as she lay prostrate on the ground, staring up at the sky and praying the battle was over. She had nothing left. If the soldiers attacked again, she couldn't even muster enough strength to set a torch alight.

  “Ny!” Sarja squealed. “You did it!”

  Nyla lifted her head. Sarja stood at the very edge, pointing down at the remnants of the attacking army, an exhausted yet satisfied smile on her beautiful face. Nyla opened her mouth to respond, but her voice had abandoned her along with her strength. Instead, she used her eyes to communicate her silent question, hoping Sarja would understand.

  “They're retreating!” Sarja held her bow high above her head and gave a vociferous bellow of victory. Zarina joined her, as did Yarji and many of her sisters below.

  We did it. We actually did it. Great Arantha, we –

  A huge crack split the air, and for a moment Nyla wondered if the ground beneath the Plateau was going to open up and swallow them whole. She turned her gaze to the north. A wave of blue energy, crackling and sparking in a deadly dance, rushed at them. She tried to move her arms, her legs, to cry out a warning, but to no avail.

  The wave crashed into her, onto her, through her. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as a burning sensation swept over her body, like millions of tiny, fiery insects crawling across her skin. Every inch of her screamed out in anguish. She felt, rather than saw, her hands and feet jerk and twitch, disobeying her brain's commands to stop. Never in her life had she felt such pain.

  She thrashed and thrashed, kicking out at nothing, but the burning sensation would not abate. Finally, after seconds that felt like hours, the pain gave way to a cold numbness. It began at her feet, creeping up her legs and through her body.

  Nyla used the last ounce of her strength to twist her head toward the edge of the Plateau.

  She locked eyes with Sarja. Her Promised, overcome by the deadly lightning, tumbled to the ground in a heap. She slid, inexorably, toward the edge of the cliff.

  And then disappeared from sight.

  Shock and grief exploded in Nyla's brain, and then merciful blackness engulfed her.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Maeve hoped, the moment she opened the container and put out her telepathic call for help, that Kalik's men would be enthralled by the spectacle playing out before them: the battle of wills between herself and Kalik, the revealing of the Stone, and Rahne's sudden, inexplicable torment. Every single man loyal to Kalik had turned his back to the pitch-black of the wadi.

  By the time the soldiers heard the rapid pad of paws upon dirt, it was too late.

  A trio of huge, sleek shapes sprang from the darkness, bearing three men to the ground under their immense weight. Not one of them had time to cry out before the lyraxes' massive jaws clamped down on their necks.

  The remaining soldiers, including Kalik, turned away from Maeve, drawing their swords in unison to face this latest threat. One man, backing away in terror, tripped over his own feet and fell on his back. Before he could right himself, a fourth lyrax sprang forward and straddled the man, burying its fangs in his throat, shaking him like a rag doll. Blood spurted from his mouth as his dying gurgle failed to draw even one of his comrades to his aid.

  Now that Kalik's attention was off her, Maeve ran quickly toward Davin and Runa, both of whom Calib had freed by cutting their bonds with his sword. Runa, having slipped into unconsciousness, lay prone on the ground, but Maeve's first concern was Davin.

  “Mom?” he whimpered, his eyes never leaving the confrontation playing out in their campsite.

  “It's okay,” she whispered. “They're on our side.”

  A fifth lyrax had joined its pack-mates, snarling challenges at the seven armed men before them. One made a half-hearted lunge at the tall soldier called Jabel, but one swipe from his longsword sent the beast scuttling back.

  Another man, standing further back than the others, took advantage of the standoff by nocking an arrow into his bow. He let it fly, catching one lyrax in its side. It let loose a wolfish howl as it fell to the ground. Through their link, Maeve felt the creature's anguish as if it had happened to her.

  “Dav, come on, help me get Runa up.” With his help, they were able to haul the tall huntress to her feet, but she still hadn't regained consciousness. Neither Kalik nor any of his men had noticed what their prisoners were up to.

  She considered having them making a break for the Talon, but there was too much chaos between them and it. So instead, Davin and Maeve dragged Runa into their manmade cave. Calib had hauled Rahne to his feet as well. The young man didn't appear to be in any pain, but the headache caused by the Stone had drained him of strength. The five of them made it inside the darkened cave unnoticed just as two more arrows were loosed by the surviving archers. Another howl echoed through the canyon and off the walls of the cave.

  Incensed, Maeve stalked determinedly from the cave mouth.

  Before they'd left the ship, Maeve had escorted Rahne down to the Talon's hold, showing him the small cache of weapons they escaped Earth with. The refurbished pistol was by far the easiest for Rahne to conceal, so he'd agreed to smuggle it outside for her. She figured the baseball bat and her bloody nose would be enough to convince Kalik not to have either one of them searched, and she was right.

  Taking careful aim down the pistol's sights, she pulled the trigger, firing a bullet straight into the skull of one of the archers. The gun's report was music to Maeve's ears, causing the remaining soldiers to turn her way. Adjusting her aim, she put the second bullet through the other archer's heart. Both men fell, dead before they hit the ground. A third shot put the nearest swordsman down.

  The remaining four soldiers, including Kalik, decided to bunch together, using their swords to keep the lyraxes at bay while sidling under the Talon's belly in a half-arsed attempt to escape her. But they had nowhere to go.

  Maeve calmly fired two more shots, halving her enemy's ranks. Kalik and Jabel took refuge behind the hulk of the excavator, but the lyraxes still had a bead on them. The pack leader, whom she had dubbed Roisin after their first encounter, bared its fangs and snarled. Maeve felt the beast's hatred course through her, adding fuel to the blazing inferno of her anger.

  Measuring each step, Maeve walked in a wide arc around the excavator, keeping her pistol pointed straight ahead. The two men sat, crouched on the ground behind it, waving their swords in every direction an attack could come from.

  She stepped from the darkness into the half-light cast by the ship. “Surrender,” she said through clenched teeth, “or you die right here.”

  Rather than answer her, Jabel sprang to his feet with a blistering stream of curses, running straight at her with both hands on his sword. He brought the blade back behind his head, ready to swing it and cleave her head from her body.

  She didn't blink or even flinch. One flick of her trigger finger and Jabel crashed to the ground, a bullet through his eye.

  Kalik, seeing the last of his men fall, stood up, his back to the excavator. His icy blue eyes blazed with impotent fury. “I knew it,” he mumbled. “Yer a killer. Yer the same as me.” With a haughty smile, he dropped his sword, spreading his hands wide as it clattered noisily to the ground. “Go on, finish it.”

  Maeve took aim, her lips curling into a smile that matched the lyraxes' in ferocity.


  “Yer too late, anyway,” he blathered on, his smile widening. “Yer tribe of whores is all dead anyway. Lord Elzor will get his –”

  Kalik's gloating was cut off by the sudden appearance of Calib, who stepped around the other side of the excavator. Maeve had barely registered the fair-haired man's presence before he swung her discarded baseball bat at Kalik's head. Bone splintered and caved in under Calib's assault, blood spurting from the wound. The thickset man dropped to his knees, his eyes glazing over, a smug sneer still present on his face.

  Calib drew the bat back, bringing it down on the top of Kalik's head with a sickening crunch. Maeve watched with satisfaction as the captain pitched forward onto his face, sending up a small cloud of dust that settled moments later.

  “Drop it!” Maeve shouted, aiming the pistol between Calib's eyes. He may have helped them turn the tables on their captors, but he was still one of them. “I said drop it!”

  “Or what? You'll kill me? With that … thing?” He gestured at the pistol in Maeve's hand.

  “You're goddamn right I will.”

  Calib stood up straight, his eyebrows knitting into a scowl. “What the blag kind of weapon is that anyway?”

  With an exasperated sigh, she averted her aim and fired, the bullet ricocheting off the metal cab of the excavator with a cluster of sparks and a loud ping. Calib threw his hands up, covering his ears at the gun's thunderous report. “Alien, remember?” Maeve seethed, taking a step forward. “Now drop the farking bat or I'll let my four-legged friends feast on your corpse!”

  He shot a look at the three lyraxes, who seemed to be waiting for her command to pounce on Calib and tear him limb from limb.

  “Fine,” he said, flinging the bat in her direction. She deftly caught it with her left hand. “Would you care to call your 'friends' off now?”

  “Your sword too,” she said, using the gun to gesture at the blade hanging from his belt.

  With a scoff and an eye-roll, he undid his belt and tossed it on the ground at her feet.